Roll with it
by Burnout'83
Summary: "No one else can do this, no one. John, I am so sorry, but it has to be you," said Cameron.


Show not Tell

It was past thee AM. The restaurant was in the Old Italian quarter. The skyline; angles of rooftops serrated against the night sky. Except for the taxi that pulled in, the road outside was quiet. Pavements were cooling after the long heat the evening. The door to the restaurant and bar was open. John and Cameron sat at the table next to the bar. Apart from them the restaurant bar was empty. On the bar top an electric fan swept from side to side. When the breeze passed over Cameron's face she turned her cheek to it. She pressed her thigh against his and smiled. He loosened his grip on the beer bottle. His hand ceased to tremble.

Cameron glanced over her shoulder "John, relax will you, they've arrived. Remember what we said."

John wiped the sweat off his palms and made to stand up.

"No, don't stand up for him. Shake his hand, but don't let him intimidate you."

"I won't let him," said John. He reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it with a flick of his thumb and snapped the lighter case shut.

Before he took a seat General Connor asked John if the food was good in the restaurant.

"We're not eating," said John.

Connor sat down opposite him and leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. Connor's bodyguard was over six feet, built like classic quarterback. He drew out the chair from under the table. Like all the chairs in the bar it was antique cast iron and painted black, its legs squeaked on the marble tiled floor. He sat down. Cameron tilted her head, and her eyes hardened. Neither the bodyguard nor Cameron blinked. Connor gestured to the solitary waiter over to the table and ordered four beers. No one spoke until the he returned with the order and he'd placed the bottles on the table.

"Faresti meglio ad andartene ora." '_You'd better leave now',_ said Cameron.

She handed the waiter an envelope and he put in his pocket. His picked his coat off the bar walked quickly out the door. He closed it behind him and locked it.

"Security measures," said Cameron.

The bodyguard nodded.

Connor took a sip of the beer and pointed the neck of it at John, "I'm going to talk to you straight because I think you deserve it and I believe you can handle and respect the truth. Cameron represents an exceptional amount of investment by my government. This whole operation has cost the equivalent of the gross national product of small developing state. I cannot allow Cameron and her team to remain here with you. There are things you do not want nor do you need the knowledge of; who we are, what we do and the nature this operation fall into the category of those things. After we finish this beer the three of us are going to get up and walk out of the door and you're going to stay here until we've gone. That you're still alive is my gesture of good will to you and your mother. "

John stubbed out his cigarette. The tremble had returned to his hand. He glanced at Cameron. Her eyes were locked on Connor's bodyguard. Her lips pursed together, eyes; cold as ice.

"Cameron wants to stay here. She doesn't want to go back to wherever it is you're from."

General Connor's smile stretched the scarred flesh of his cheek and the corner of his mouth turned up in a menacing grin. His eyes sparkled with bitter irony. His bodyguard reached for his beer and he took a sip. His movements were slow, relaxed and deliberate, almost to the point of arrogance. Cameron never took her eyes off him. She placed her hand on Johns thigh and kept it there.

"Cameron said we were going to meet here and she was going to explain me what this was all about," said John.

"That's not happening. We're here to take her home." Connor glanced at Cameron and ran his hand over the stubble of his chin. His bodyguard lifted the bottle to take a sip. Before it reached his lips, Cameron ripped the weapon from duct tape under her iron chair. John rolled away and covered his face. The table top exploded into a thousand splinters of mahogany. The boom of Cameron's 50cal Desert Eagle detonated across the bar. The bullet ripped a strip of metal and flesh out of the side of his temple. The air filled with pink mist and micro fragments of metal. For a second or so the bodyguard's expression froze, his hand clutched the bottle, he tottered backwards and fell off his chair.

Connor writhed on the floor next to him, tearing at the shrapnel in his face as he crawled for the cover of the nearest table. A six inch splinter jutted out from the side of his neck. The marble floor was slippery with his blood.

_I won't be able to kill him. Can you...will you do it?" _she'd said.

John took the weapon out of Cameron's hand and stepped behind him. His legs were weak and they shook. He aimed the gun at the back of Connor's head and pulled the trigger. The round caught Connor square in the back of his head. Its kinetic energy crushed his face into the tiled floor like a brick smashed into the top of a rattlesnake's skull. The aerosol of pink spray hung the air, it tasted of the copper of blood.

John wiped the blood off his face. He gripped the gun in his shaking hand. Slowly he turned to examine the corpse of bodyguard. Cameron prized the weapon out of John's fingers and dropped it in her bag. She stood next to him. He crouched down and ran his fingers over the sharp metal that edged the gouge in he side of his skull.

Cameron took a step forward. She reached out to place her hand on John's shoulder but she stopped in mid-air. She rested it as her side and rubbed her hand over her forearm.

"John, we have to leave now," she said, quietly.

"John." Cameron helped him to his feet. She led him out through the back door and past the rotten stench of the trash cans in the back yard. They climbed over the wall and dropped into the service road that loped back to the main street.

The air in the street was clean and the stars shone bright overhead. The residual heat of the pavement warmed the air. They walked next to each other in silence. At the end of the street Cameron paused and took her iPhone out of her bag. She tapped in a number and pressed 'dial'. A ball of flame exploded out of the front windows of the restaurant, glass sprinkled on the pavement. Moments later a second, more powerful explosion punched the brickwork out of the front of the building. Ignited fragments metal writhed in the air and streaked across the asphalt like firework serpents. The roof collapsed into the burning debris.

The flames lit Cameron's face. John reached up and gently pulled a splinter of table wood out of her cheek. He ran his finger over the exposed metal of her jawbone. She didn't flinch.

"Will it heal?"

Cameron nodded.

"Does it hurt?" He asked.

"Sometimes," she said.

John reached out his hand and opened his palm. Cameron placed her hand in his. Their fingers slowly wrapped around each other's until they entwined.


End file.
